


we will find our way home

by snapdragonpop007



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Damian Wayne, Adult Jonathan Kent, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Cassandra Cain is Batgirl, Damian Wayne is Nightwing, Damian Wayne-centric, Established Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Ethiopia still happens, Heavy Angst, I can't believe that's not a tag, I have a lot of mixed feelings about Talia, Jason Todd is Robin, Joker Junior - Freeform, Joker is DEAD, Jonathan Kent is Flamebird, Like he should be, Multi, Mute Cassandra Cain, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reverse Robins, Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, Tim Drake is Red Hood, Trans Jason Todd, and we’re just gonna let em out in this fic, but he's trans becasue I say so, but he's trying okay, he loves his kids i promise, it's not important to the story whatsoever, just without all the death, technically she's oracle but i'm still calling her spoiler because that's far more cool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27114298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapdragonpop007/pseuds/snapdragonpop007
Summary: Damian Wayne ran off to Bludhaven four years ago after killing the Joker, taking Jon with him and leaving behind a broken relationship with his father and Tim Drake buried six feet under.Four years later, Bruce shows up in Bludhaven with news that Jason has gone missing.--Or, I write a reverse robins AU that nobody but me asked for
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 57
Kudos: 386





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr @snap-dragon-pop

Jon’s face popped up in front of Damian’s, his blue eyes bright and twinkling behind the deep red domino mask he wore. It was a startling contrast—one that, even after four years of Jon wearing the mask and being Flamebird, Damian still wasn’t used to. Red was never a color that Damian had associated with Jon—it had always been the deep blues and bright yellows of his Superboy days. He hadn’t associated red with Jon until he left Gotham and Jon followed him to Bludhaven and helped him bring to life the Kryptionian legend of Nightwing and Flamebird. 

“Come here often?” Flamebird asked. He was hanging upside down in midair--a move he did often for no other reason than that he could. 

Damian rolled his eyes behind his own mask—a dark blue that made the green of his eyes almost frighteningly acidic—yet try as he might he couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face. 

“Almost every night.” He answered. 

Flamebird grinned. He twisted himself so he was back upright, then he floated down and settled on the roof ledge Nightwing was leaning against. He crossed his legs and leaned back. Damian followed the line of his body, always so much more defined in the spandex and Kevlar, before snapping his eyes back up to Flamebird’s face. 

Jon’s smile grew a little wider. 

Nightwing cleared his throat. “Anything interesting happen?”

“Nope.” Flamebird popped the ‘p’ and tilted his head. He used a stiff gel to keep his hair out of his face while he worked, but a few locks had slipped loose from his earlier flight around the docks. They fell across his forehead, swaying gently as a breeze blew past. “Quiet as a mouse out there.” 

Nightwing nodded, then turned his attention back to the loading dock below them. 

It looked quiet and unassuming, but if you looked just right you could see the gleam of guns tucked away in the hands and jackets of the workers milling between the crates and shipping boxes. Well, not workers. They were a hired security detail, posing as dock workers. 

It was a trick Damian had seen plenty of times, both in Bludhaven and Gotham.

“Anything interesting happen on your end?”

“No, not yet.” Nightwing turned to look at Flamebird. He had turned his own attention to the docks, giving Damian a moment to just look at him. 

Four years they had been doing this, and every day it still amazed Damian that Jon had stuck with him. 

Flamebird hummed quietly after a moment, looking back at Nightwing and arching an eyebrow. An unfortunate habit he picked up from Alfred. 

“Heck of a way to spend your anniversary night.” he said. 

Damian knew it was coming--had been waiting for it, really. 

“I know—I’m sorry.” Nightwing took a deep breath and closed his eyes, thinking of the ring he had hidden in the lead safe he kept in the second bedroom in their two bedroom apartment. He hadn’t wanted to spend tonight like this--he had plans and reservations and a speech and so many other things. 

But this was a case they had been on for weeks and he wanted it closed. If they didn’t end this tonight, they wouldn't have another chance for months. Sex trafficking was not something Damian was willing to overlook for a night, not even if it was his anniversary. 

“I know. This isn’t something you can help.” Jon gave a small smile, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Nightwings cheek, just below his mask. “We’re going out tomorrow morning for brunch though. At that little café down the street--and you’re paying.”

Damian could coincide to that.

“Of course, beloved,” Damian said. 

Jon grinned. It fell as quickly as it came, and both Flamebird and Nightwing were snapping their heads back to the dock as the sound of an incoming freight truck filled the air. 

It drove slowly up onto the dock, the wood creaking and groaning under the weight of it. Nightwing narrowed his eyes as the tuck rolled to a stop. The drivers side door opened first. A large hulking man emerged--bodyguard, Nightwing guessed. Then the passenger side opened, and out stepped the man in charge of this whole operation. A lanky, balding, middle aged man named Thomas Danials. 

Flamebird stood, balancing precariously on the roof ledge as he lifted his arms above his head in a stretch. 

Jon could fly, Damian knew that, but that didn’t stop the spike of panic he felt every time Jon swayed with the breeze.

“Showtime, babe.” Flamebird held out a hand to him, and Nightwing took it. 

—

They crawled back into their apartment through the bedroom window just as the sun was kissing the horizon. 

Damian collapsed onto the bed in a heap of limbs and ragged breaths. Jon watched him with a smile, sitting on the edge of the bed while Damian dug his face into the pillow. It was Jon’s pillow, and it smelled like his honey shampoo. 

“You alright, Dami?” 

Damian lifted his head long enough to peel off his mask, dropping it somewhere on the floor. He was too exhausted to care where it went and to bother rubbing away the sticky residue the spirit gum left behind. “Not all of us have your ridiculous stamina, Jon.” 

Alfred the Cat mewled from somewhere underneath them. Then he was hopping up onto the bed, walking over Jon’s lap and Damian’s back. He settled in the junction of Damian’s neck and shoulder, bursting into a broken purr. Damian couldn’t quite breath right, but he didn’t have the heart to make Alfred the Cat move. 

“I told you I could have handled them.” Jon’s voice sounded closer, and then warm hands were on his neck and scooping the cat up.

“I know.” Damian sighed. He felt Jon’s fingers tugging at the zipper of his suit. When it was halfway down his back Alfred the Cat meowed again and jumped up onto Damian, his claws pricking into Damian’s exposed skin as he kneaded his paws.

“Hey, no--down--” Jon shooed Alfred the Cat back down. 

Damian hadn’t had any trouble fighting through Danials’ men. There had just been a lot of them, and Damian had made the mistake of trying to get through them as quickly as he could. He had exhausted himself, and it was his own fault. 

Jon coaxed Damian to roll onto his back. He blinked a few times to adjust his vision. Jon was hovering over him with a soft smile, and Alfred the Cat was flicking his tail and pacing back and forth on the end of the bed. Jon started to peel Damian’s suit off and down his shoulders, working his arms out of the sleeves and rolling the top of the suit down his chest. 

Damian let him work, and when Jon leaned back to check Damian over for bruises he reached up, wrapping his arms around Jon’s shoulders and tugging him into a soft kiss. 

Jon hummed, kissing Damian back just as softly. 

When he pulled back, Damian chased after him.

“Shower first. Then I’m all yours.” Jon said, gently pushing Damian back down--not that Damian blamed him. He was gross and sweaty and probably needed two showers at least.

Damian smiled anyway. “You better get me out of this suit then.” 

“Jesus Christ Dami--” Jon groaned, his cheeks turning a pleasant shade of pink. Alfred the Cat meowed, and Damian sat up with a groan, reaching a hand out to pet the little tuxedo cat. 

Alfred the Cat broke out into another broken purr, flinging himself into Damian’s hand. 

When Damian had first gotten Alfred the Cat, he was a malnourished kitten that Damian found left in a dumpster, with both back legs broken and an infected eye that wouldn’t stay open. Bruce had thought it best to put the little thing down, but Damian said no and spent many sleepless nights nursing the kitten back to health. Alfred the Cat had recovered after weeks and weeks of antibiotics and hand feeding, but he never quite learned how to purr right and still walked with a limp. 

“I’ll unlace your boots, how’s that?” Jon didn’t wait for an answer before he slid off the bed and knelt in front of Damian. 

Jon was gentle with this too, undoing the double knots and loosening the laces enough for Damian to kick the boots off. Then Jon rocked back on his heels, dodging Damian as he tried to steal another kiss.

“ _Shower_ , Dami,” Jon repeated.

Damian blinked, then smiled. “You can join me, if you want.”

He stood, swooping down to press a kiss to Jon’s temple, then sauntered off towards the bathroom. 

Damian could hear Jon hopping around as he tried to reach the zipper of his suit, throwing out a string of curses when he hit the bedside table. Alfred the Cat meowed again, sounding distressed.

Damian bit back a laugh, leaving the bathroom door open just a crack as he slipped inside and flicked on the lights. It took him a moment to adjust to the bright florescence and blink away the sting. He went to the tub, fiddling with the shower knob and sticking his hand under the spray to test the temperature before turning to look at himself in the mirror. 

He didn’t look a pretty picture. His hair looked like a rats nest on top of his head, and there was a bruise already forming on his jaw from a lucky hit. A few more were scattered across his chest from kicks and punches he didn’t quite doge, and Damian was sure more would follow in the morning. 

He brought his hand up to his jaw, prodding at the blue and green splotch and wincing each time his fingers made contact.

He had looked worse, he supposed. 

“That’s gonna look nasty in the morning.” Jon slipped into the bathroom and slid up behind Damian. He made sure Damian saw him in the mirror before sliding his arms around Damian’s waist in a loose hold, mindful of the bruises. 

“It’s nothing some makeup won’t fix.” Damian brought his hand back and tangled his fingers in Jon’s hair. It was stiff and gritty from the gel and dirt. “Or I’ll tell people I fell down the stairs.” 

Jon snorted. “I’m pretty sure that excuse has never once worked for you.” 

“I’d think you would be surprised at how often it has,” Damian tugged lightly at Jon’s scalp. Jon let out a soft sigh and dropped his chin onto Damian’s shoulder. “The water is probably warm by now.” 

They worked the rest of their suits off before climbing into the tiny shower. It was hardly big enough for one person, let alone two grown adults, but they made it work. They took their time, letting the water wash away most of the dirt and grime of the night. The heat and steam relaxed Damian’s stiff muscles, and he was almost boneless as he slumped against Jon while his partner worked the honey scented shampoo through his hair and gently rinsed it out. 

When they were clean enough Damian almost didn’t get out. The warm water felt nice, and Jon holding him was pretty nice too.

“Damian, babe, comeon--” Jon, still holding Damian with one arm, reached around him to turn off the water. “--we gotta get out.” 

Damian was hit rather suddenly with a gust of cold air. He shivered and pushed himself closer to Jon. 

Jon indulged him, still holding him as they got out of the shower. Alfred the Cat was waiting for them, sitting on their suits and staring up at them with his big green eyes. He yelled, weaved between their legs, then padded out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom. 

“You left the door open?” Damian asked.

“You know he gets sad when he can’t watch us shower,” Jon let go of Damian and threw a towel over his head. 

Damian huffed, but scrubbed at his hair and face anyway, drying it enough so it didn’t drip all over the place and getting the last of the spirit gum off his face. Then Jon was tugging him back out into the hall and to the bedroom. They climbed into bed without putting any clothes on, pulling the covers up tight while Alfred the Cat settled between them and rumbled away like a broken motor. 

All at once the exhaustion of the night fell over Damian, and soon he was struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“Hey, Jon?”

“Yeah, Dami?”

Damian reached out, his fingertips catching Jon’s chest. He kept them there, taking a moment to feel the heartbeat beneath his fingers. 

“Tonight--I was going to ask you to marry me,” Damian mumbled. 

Jon stilled. “You were?”

Damian hummed. “We’ve been together since we were fourteen and I don’t--I don’t plan on finding anyone else.” Damian paused. He could feel Jon’s heartbeat quicken and he remembered, suddenly, times where he had listened to it slow, times where he was afraid that it wouldn’t pick back up again. Times were it was so quiet that he was afraid that it was gone. “I love you. I don’t say that enough.”

Jon shuffled closer, laying an arm over Damian’s waist. It was nice and warm and heavy. 

“I love you too,” he mumbled. Then, “Ask me tomorrow, okay?” 

“Okay,” Damian agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @snap-dragon-pop

It was not often that Damian slept later than Jon. 

Jon was an early riser in his own right, a habit stitched into him from weekends and winter breaks and summer vacations spent back on his grandparents farm. But Damian was just too used to late nights and throwing back espresso shots and snapping to alertness as soon as the first light of dawn spilled across the sky to be able to sleep in, an unfortunate lesson that had been drilled into his head long before Bruce took him in. Talia had been far more unforgiving than Bruce ever had, beating into him lessons and paranoia no child should ever have been burdened with. 

Bruce and Alfred had done their best to rewire the things Talia forced him to learn, but some things were just tangled too tightly. 

When Damian cracked his eyes open and squinted against the full morning light, Jon was gone and Alfred the Cat had taken up residence on his side of the bed. 

He fought back the rising panic and ignored the rush of adrenaline that followed. It had been fourteen years since Damian had seen his mother, but she still hovered over him like a ghost.

The cat blinked owlishly at him, then stuck a paw out and smacked his cheek. 

Damian winced as the soft padding of Alfred the Cat’s paw hit the bruise on his jaw, and he drew his hand out from under the blanket to bat the cat’s paw away. Alfred the Cat took that as an invitation for playtime, and Damian spent the next several seconds fending off Alfred the Cat before giving up and sitting up so he could scoop him in his lap. 

Alfred the Cat let out one feeble meow, then erupted into a purr. 

Damian’s head ached from the sudden shift in positions.

He hoped caffeine would take care of the headache. The bottle of over the counter aspirin in the bathroom had been in there since they first moved in, and Alfred never told Damian if it was safe to take expired pills. 

With a sigh Damian set Alfred the Cat down on the floor, then rooted around for something to dress himself with. He came up with a pair of Jon’s sweatpants. They were worn and paint stained, and the _Bludhaven Community College_ lettering running down the left leg was cracked and peeling. Still, they were warm and cozy, and after tightening the drawstring and rolling up the pant legs enough to not trip, Damian wandered to the kitchen with Alfred the Cat padding after him. 

Their kitchen was not a kitchen so much as it was a corner with a stove and a fridge and enough counter space for a microwave and a coffee pot. It was far, _far_ too tiny for a two bedroom apartment, but Damian and Jon were hard pressed for cash and couldn’t afford much better. Jon was working day shifts at a Starbucks while working his way through graduate school, and Damian was assisting at the veterinary clinic down the street while he finished up his own degree.

Damian had a savings account, one that Bruce was still dumping money into, but he was loath to touch it. 

“I already fed the cat. Don’t let him fool you,” Jon was sitting at the little kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee. He had thrown on an old gray sweater and a pair of briefs.

Another mug of coffee was already set out, still steaming. 

Damian looked at Jon for just a bit longer than necessary before glancing at Alfred the Cat’s bowl. It was empty save for a little mound of kibble bits that had been shoved off to the side. He bent down to shake the bowl so the food was in an even layer, then sat in the chair across from Jon and picked up the mug. The coffee was a pretty tan from the added creamer, and Damian held it to his lips for a moment before taking a sip. 

It tasted like hazelnuts and vanilla. 

When Damian pulled the mug back, Jon greeted him with a smile. “Mornin’, sleeping beauty.” 

Damian grumbled something that sounded vaguely like a morning greeting. 

Jon laughed quietly. It sounded like the Christmas bells they had hanging on the door handles, because while it had only just turned November Jon was a monster and insisted on decorating for Christmas as soon as Halloween ended. 

He set his mug down, then Jon was reaching across the table and taking Damian’s jaw in his hands. 

Damian stayed still and let him look and gently prod at the bruise. 

“Are you sure you didn’t break your jaw?” Jon asked. 

“I’m positive,” Damian answered. There was an almost pleasant ache in his teeth when he spoke. “Why, does it look bad?” 

“The entire bottom right side of your face is purple, Dami,” Jon answered. He pulled back with a frown, tilting his head and dropping his cheek into his palm. His hair had fluffed up from when it dried overnight, falling softly across his forehead. Damian had full intentions to run his fingers through it, _after_ he finished his coffee.

“I’ll slap some makeup on it and call it a day,” Damian took another sip from his coffee. He felt more awake already. 

Jon hummed and tapped his finger against the table. 

Alfred the Cat padded up to the table and yowled, informing both Damian and Jon that he had actually finished his breakfast this time and would like more. They both ignored him. 

“When did you want to leave?” Damian turned the subject towards the promised brunch. There was a part of him that liked when Jon fussed over him, but some scrapes and bruises hardly warranted fussing. 

Jon thought for a moment before answering. “ ‘bout an hour, I guess. I don’t want all the fresh pastries to be gone.” 

The owner of the little café, Adelaide, baked pastries all throughout the day, they both knew that, but there was something to be said about the first pastries of the day. They always seemed to taste better, and Damian couldn’t explain how or why. It was like pancake days at the manor. You always wanted to get the first one Alfred made, because that one was the best.

“Hey, uh,” Jon spoke, then paused. He fiddled with his mug for a moment before looking back up at Damian with a flush to his cheeks. “Last night, were you--were you serious about that?”

It took Damian a moment to remember what Jon was talking about. He had been half asleep when he started mumbling about his aborted proposal plans.

Damian set his mug down, scooted his chair back, then stood. “Come with me.”

Jon stood and followed him without hesitation. 

Alfred the Cat followed him too, but when he saw Damian wasn’t going towards the closet where his food was, he detoured to the couch and jumped up onto the back of it and settled in for a nap. Damian continued on to the second bedroom and to the little lead safe. 

“No cheating,” Damian gave Jon a look before he cracked it open.

“Dami, it’s a lead safe I can’t--” Jon cut himself off with a sharp breath when Damian turned back to him with a black velvet ring box in hand. He opened it before Jon could peek. 

The ring inside wasn’t anything overly dramatic. Jon liked simple things, and so Damian kept it simple--just a gold band with the word beloved etched into the inside of the ring and a silver line running through the middle. There were no gems, no diamonds. Just gold and silver. 

“I was serious,” Damian said quietly. 

Jon was looking at the ring with wide eyes, unusually silent. Then-- 

“Ask me.”

Damian grinned. “Jon, will you marry me?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Then Jon was kissing him and holding Damian’s cheeks in his hands, his touch feather light against the bruise. Damian lifted his arms up to wrap around Jon’s shoulders, still holding the ring box in one hand while he brought the other up to twist in Jon’s hair. It was just as soft as he thought it would be. 

Warmth was spreading across his chest and a giddiness he had not felt since he was a child was rising up in his lungs. Damian had been certain that Jon was going to say yes, but hearing the word leave his lips was so, _so_ much better than all the nights he had spent imagining it. 

It was a shame to have that moment interrupted by a hesitant knock on the door. 

Damian and Jon pulled apart, looking at each other in question. They weren't expecting anyone--they were never expecting anyone. 

“Maybe it’s Dad,” Jon said. “Heard you propose and decided to fly over.”

Damian gave Jon a long look. “Jon, your father is currently on Oa.”

Jon shrugged, and the knock came again. 

Damian sighed, untangled himself from Jon, and pressed the ring box into his hand. Jon looked at it with a soft smile, and Damian lingered long enough to watch his partner slid the ring onto his finger before leaving the bedroom. He snagged a stray sweater off a rocking chair as he passed, tugging it over his head and stumbling to the front door.

The knock sounded again, and Damian was just irritated enough to yank the door open. 

He stiffened before he could get a word out.

Damian’s father stood on the other side, looking awkward and out of place with his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved in his coat pockets. 

He did not, in that moment, look like Bruce Wayne. He looked like the man that Damian first met when he was ten years old--awkward and unsure of himself and not knowing what to do with the child that stood in front of him. 

He looked older, too. There were new lines etched in his face that Damian didn’t remember, a deeper tiredness buried in his eyes. There were new grey hairs too at his temples--Bruce didn’t have gray hair the last time Damian saw him, and his stubble was starting to pass more into the scruffy stage, like he hadn’t shaved in days. 

“Hi, Damian.” 

Damian had not spoken to Bruce in four years outside of the occasional phone call. It was jarring to hear his voice again without the shield of phone static and miles between them. It didn’t sound right. It sounded too close and familiar and almost comforting. 

“What do you want?” Damian closed the door, just a little bit. 

Bruce’s face did something odd. His brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to say something before closing it again, lips in a tight line. His eyes darted toward the door, then back to Damian. Damian could see his coat twitch, just a little bit, like Bruce was tapping his fingers against his side with his hands still in his pockets. 

“Jason’s missing.” Bruce finally said. 

Damian frowned. “Shouldn’t you be asking Cassandra for help?”

Cassandra, Batgirl, Bruce’s newest orphan. Damian may be on speaking terms with Jason, but he wasn’t attached to his hip like Cassandra was. Those two, as far as Damian knew, went everywhere together. 

“She doesn’t know where he is.” Bruce’s voice was quiet. 

His voice was never quiet. 

Damian stared, took a deep breath, then opened the door back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, now that I've written a new chapter far sooner than I was expecting, time to do homework


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @snap-dragon-pop

Damian left Bruce sitting on the couch with Alfred the Cat while he ducked into the kitchen with Jon, because Alfred the Cat was a goddamn traitor who curled up on Bruce’s lap as soon as he sat down. Bruce had looked startled when the cat plopped on his lap--like a deer caught in the headlights. There had been a tense moment of silence, and then Bruce hesitantly ran his hand down Alfred the Cat’s spine, which only caused his purrs to get louder and more stuttering and broken.

Damian could only take about a second of that before darting off to the kitchen. 

“You can’t hide in here forever, Dami.”

Damian frowned, watching the coffee drip into the pot. He had thrown out the other one, completely disregarding the fact that the pot was still half full of fresh coffee just so he would have something to do. 

“Watch me,” Damian mumbled. 

Jon let out a soft sigh--not upset or disappointed. Just indifferent. 

He understood Damian’s reluctance to speak with Bruce better than most. He had been there when the fighting started and he had been there when everything fell apart and he had been there to help Damian put the pieces back together. Jon understood the anger and the frustration between the two of them and Damian loved him endlessly for that, but Jon was an optimistic person and put a lot of faith in family and second chances and apologies. 

But Damian knew better than that. 

“Dami, babe, you know I love you--” Jon crossed his arms over his chest and held eye contact with Damian even when he tried to look away. “--but this isn’t just about you right now.” 

“It’s not _my_ fault Jason decided to fuck off to god knows where. I’m not his babysitter, Jon,” Damian snapped it out. Guilt filled his lungs immediately, nearly choking him on the bitterness. He remembered saying those same words to Bruce when Tim disappeared, remembered not caring nearly as much as he did now, remembered caring far too much, far too quickly. “I--sorry.” 

Jon just looked at him for a moment. 

“You care about Jason,” he finally said. “So put your differences with Bruce aside for now and think about that.” 

Damian hated it when Jon had to go and be right. 

He huffed, grabbed his still half full cup of coffee and left behind the now full pot of fresh coffee. He made his way into the living room wearily, skirting around the edges before taking a seat on the couch as far away from Bruce as he could get. 

“So what did you two fight about?” Damian asked, because Jason didn’t just get up and leave for no reason. 

Sure, those first few months Jason had lived at the manor he had been what Bruce liked to call a _flight risk_. More than once he had run off and ended up in Bludhaven with a duffle bag full of food and money and clothes slung over his shoulder, and Damian had turned the kid right back around and sent him scurrying on back to Bruce and Alfred because he was still grieving a sibling he never really had and didn’t want to deal with another one. 

But at some point Damian pulled his head out of his ass, and let Jason stay a while before sending him back. 

Bruce shifted on the couch, looking at anything that wasn’t Damian. His eyes locked with Jon’s for a moment as he was coming out of the kitchen, but he was quick to look away again. Jon took a seat in the rocking chair to act as a buffer, and Bruce finally decided to just keep looking at Alfred the Cat. 

Alfred the Cat let out a merp when Bruce shifted and flicked his tail in annoyance, but didn’t leave Bruce’s lap. 

“Jason’s been...acting out, lately,” Bruce finally said. He spoke slowly and chose his words carefully, like he wasn’t sure they were the right words to be using. 

Damian narrowed his eyes. “He’s fifteen. He’s going to act out.” 

He thought about mentioning all the stunts he pulled at fifteen, all the nights he snuck out and skipped patrol and got a little more violent with criminals than what was strictly necessary, but Damian kept his mouth shut and left it at that. Bruce was on his third kid. He should know how they act by now. 

“He’s been angry. Unfocused,” Bruce said quietly. “He was--a few nights ago, he broke off from his patrol route without telling me. When I found him he was--he was holding a suspect off a roof and I--” Bruce paused and swallowed thickly. “I misjudged the situation.” 

Damian’s anger jumped up in his throat, hot and sticky. “What, so you thought he skipped off to Bludhaven so we could start up a murderers club?” 

“Damian--” Bruce started, but Damian cut him off.

“Why don’t you go ask Stephanie to help you? She’s supposed to be _good_ at finding people, isn’t she?” It was a low blow, but Damian was getting too riled up to take it back. “Or are you fighting with her too?” 

“Damian.” Jon spoke this time, his voice a grounding anchor in the haze of Damian’s growing anger. 

Damian bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood.

It hadn’t been Stephanie’s fault that they hadn’t found Tim in time. She had been confined to a hospital bed, breathing from an oxygen tube and unable to move her legs. She had done what she could with what she had, but in the end it just hadn’t been enough. Bruce and Damian got there too late. 

Bruce stayed silent. 

Whatever color he had in his cheeks was gone, leaving him pale and sickly. 

Damian took a deep breath. “Why don’t you just call him? He has his phone, doesn’t he?”

“He blocked my calls,” Bruce answered. His voice sounded shaky. “And he’s done something to the wiring to keep me from tracking it.” 

If he took his phone, then at least that meant Jason left of his own volition. Turning off the tracking mechanism was another point to that theory. Bruce had gone a little...helicopter parent, to put it mildly. Tracking devices were put in anything and everything Damian and Jason had, and turning them off took a certain base knowledge that no oone outside the Wayne Manor had. It wasn’t the sort of thing where you could just smash it and turn it off. 

“Then _I’ll_ call him,” Damian stood swiftly from the couch and marched to the bedroom to get his phone before anyone could tell him no, already dialing Jason’s number while he walked back. 

The phone rang once, then twice. 

The call connected when Damian sat back on the couch.

“Damian—?”

“Did you know Bruce is looking for you?” Damian said it before Jason could get a chance to finish his sentence. 

Bruce snapped his head up and looked at Damian with wide eyes. Damian ignored it.

“...Yeah.” Jason sounded sane and healthy enough, if not a little guilty. “Yeah, I know.” 

“He came to Bludhaven to ask me if I knew where you were.” Damian thought about mentioning that Bruce was currently sitting next to him, but as tempting as it was he knew that if he did that then Jason would hang up and wouldn’t pick up the phone again. 

There was a moment of silence. “Shit—sorry.”

Damian took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to drag this out. “Jason, where are you?”

Jason didn’t answer.

“ _Jason_.” Damian repeated. 

“...Ethiopia.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up. It wasn’t that he was trying to listen in, Damian knew that, but having super hearing tended not to leave him much choice. 

Whatever answer Damian had been expecting from Jason, that certainly hadn’t been it. “Why the _fuck_ are you in Ethiopia?” 

Bruce snapped up.

“My mom is here,” Jason’s voice got a little quieter. There was a story here that Damian didn’t fully know, because as far as he knew Jason’s mom was dead. “I wanted—I wanted to meet her.”

Damian looked at Bruce in a silent question. Bruce’s lips went into a thin line, and Damian narrowed his eyes in a silent warning that Bruce would explain as soon as Damian hung up the phone, because Damian had a suspicion that he was about to be boarding a plane to Ethiopia, and if Bruce didn’t spill then Damian wasn’t going to help track down the wayward Robin. 

“Why didn’t you tell Bruce?” Damian asked. He didn’t look away from Bruce, not yet. 

“Bruce and I aren’t exactly getting along these days.” Jason snapped it out, his earlier hesitance replaced with his usual bite and snark. “Which you would know, if you came over every once in a while.”

Damian chose to ignore that last bit. “Did you tell Alfred?”

There was a chance that Alfred had known and just didn’t say anything. Alfred was good at keeping everyone’s secrets.

Jason’s silence was telling. 

Damian closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Alfred was probably losing his mind with worry right now, and that was something Damian couldn’t ignore so easily. Alfred didn’t deserve that. “Tell me where you are. Right now.” 

“No. You’ll just tell Bruce--”

“He already knows.” Damian snapped out. “He’s sitting right next to me.” 

Jason fell silent, and then all Damian heard was the dial tone. 

He pulled his phone away from his ear and held it for a moment before he hung up. “Why,” he asked, “Is Jason looking for his dead mother in Ethiopia?” 

Bruce shifted again, and this time Alfred the Cat jumped off his lap and went to settle on Jon’s. Bruce looked a little lost now that that cat was gone, his hands hovering above his lap, looking for something to do. 

“The landlords of his parents' apartment were cleaning it out for new tenants and they found a box of old papers. They gave it to me in case anything important was in it,” Bruce explained. “Jason’s birth certificate was there, and we--Catherine wasn’t the name on the certificate. She’s not his birth mother.” 

Damian swallowed back something bitter.

“So who is his mom?” Jon nosed his way into the conversation when the silence stretched on for too long. He leaned forward into the chair, propping his elbow on the arm and dropping his cheek into his palm. Bruce looked at him, zeroing in on the ring. His eyes widened just enough for Damian to notice. 

“...Shelia Haywood. Alfred and I tracked her to Ethiopia. She’s working as a volunteer doctor at a refugee camp.” Bruce finally answered. He blinked a few times. “I wanted to take Jason to meet her, but with everything that happened these past few weeks I didn’t think it was the right time.” 

“Right, because you thought Jason was going to kill someone.” Damian managed to get his voice back in his bitterness. He stood sharply before anyone could speak, taking in a deep breath. “You had better buy two plane tickets to Ethiopia then.” 

Bruce looked away from Jon and back to Damian in a silent question. 

“I’m not letting it happen again.” was all Damian said. “Jason doesn't deserve that.” 

Doesn't deserve what happened to Tim.

“Guess we’re taking a rain check on brunch, huh?” Jon stood to meet Damian. He held out his hands and Damian took them, willingly going to Jon as the kryptonian pulled him closer and closer, close enough that they were sharing each other's breath. 

Damian pushed his forehead against Jon’s, ignoring Bruce.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

Jon smiled softly, always so unfairly kind and understanding. “I’ll just make you pay for dinner, too.” 

Damian huffed out a quiet laugh. 

He stayed like that for a moment, just letting Jon hold him. When he finally pulled back and looked at Bruce, his father was quick to look away. 

It was not until they were boarding a plane at Bludhaven’s airport several hours later after booking the last two seats, after they had called Alfred and Cassandra and Stephanie and let them know the situation, and after Damian had squeezed himself into the window seat did Bruce ask about the ring. 

“When did you propose?” 

Damian’s fingers tightened on the duffle bag in his lap. Bruce was looking at him with something that Damian couldn’t quite name.

“Just before you showed up.” he said. 

Bruce blinked slowly.

“I’m happy for you.” he said softly.

Damian didn’t say anything back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred is the only one holding this god damn family together I swear
> 
> (I'm messing with the Ethiopia storyline just a bit becasue 1), my friend currently has my copy of Death in the Family and I'm currently four hours away from her so I can't get it and double check the little details and 2) Joker is dead so I can do what I want)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @snap-dragon-pop

It wasn’t that hard to find Jason once they landed. 

The kid _had_ been smart, Damian would give him that. Jason used cash in all his transactions, but that made him easy to find, too. A fifteen year old making large purchases in cash wasn’t an everyday occurrence, and all Bruce had to do was get teary-eyed and panicked when he asked the hotel clerks if they had seen his son and answers and help would come his way.

By the third hotel they stopped at they were pointed to Jason’s room without a word. 

Damian wasn’t entirely sure how a fifteen year old managed to get a hotel room at an international branch of Best Western, but he was too irritated and groggy from his impromptu nap to properly suss it out. 

He hadn’t spoken to Bruce once during the flight. He had put in his headphones and turned his music up louder every time Bruce tried to strike up a conversation, and eventually they both nodded off to sleep somewhere around the tenth hour mark. Damian knew that whatever talk they tried to have would just escalate into a shouting match, and he wasn’t particularly inclined to get into it with his father on a nonstop fifteen hour flight. 

They hadn’t talked until they got off the plane, and even then it was short and clipped and mostly exchanges with yes or no questions. 

They weren’t arguing, at least. Jon would be happy about that. 

“Jaylad?” Bruce raised his fist to knock gently on the door. “Can you let us in?” 

It was early morning here. The sun had only just risen, and the hallway was stuffed full of that sort of silence you only got with early mornings--heavy and pressing and almost unnatural. Jason wasn’t likely to be out and about yet, and Damian was right, he wasn’t. 

Jason opened the door a few moments later, still in his sleep clothes and looking ruffled and groggy. It took him a moment to realize who he was looking at, but when he did he was quick to fully wake up and even quicker to narrow his eyes in anger. 

“Great. You’re both here.” He sounded anything but enthused. He looked between the two, then locked his eyes on Damian. “Shouldn’t you be fucking around Bludhaven?”

“I would be if you didn’t decide to fuck off to Ethiopia.” Damian shot back. 

“Boys,” Bruce sounded tired. He sounded like their father. It was a tone Damian hadn’t heard in a long time, and it startled him so much that he snapped his mouth shut. “Let’s not yell at each other.”

Damian bit his cheek and Jason fell silent. 

He was twenty-four years old, and Bruce could still make him feel like a child. 

“Let’s talk about this over breakfast, okay?” Bruce took in a breath. He looked between Damian and Jason before finally settling on the younger. “Jay, go get dressed.”

Jason opened his mouth to protest, but Bruce bit out a sharp now and Jason was quick to close it. He huffed and glared, then spun on his heel and slammed the door hard enough that it rattled. There was an annoyed shout from across the hall, and then it fell silent again. 

Damian took in his own deep breath, letting it out quickly.

“I’m going to call Jon. I’ll meet you downstairs.” Damian pushed his bag into Bruce’s chest so he could leave it in Jason’s room, then started back down the hall before Bruce could call him back. His phone was already in hand, dialing Jon’s number.

Jon answered when Damian was only halfway down the two flights of stairs. 

“Hey, babe,” It was late afternoon in Bludhaven, but Jon sounded tired anyway. He probably didn’t get any more sleep than Damian did. “How’s it going?”

“We found Jason,” Damian kept his voice low as he entered the lobby. He paused for a moment and looked around, then headed towards an empty corner with a large potted plant and an open window.

“That was quick.” Jon said. 

“He’s a fifteen year old kid in Ethiopia who doesn’t speak Amharic,” the pot the plant was in was large enough for Damian to prop his hip on it and lean against it. He crossed his empty arm over his chest and held the phone closer to his ear. “That’s not difficult to find.” 

“Point taken.” there was a shuffling on Jon’s end. “Hold on--Alfred the Cat wants to say hello.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by the sounds of the cat sniffing the speaker, then a loud and sharp meow. 

Damian smiled. “Hi.”

Alfred the Cat meowed again. There was more shuffling, and then Jon was back. “He’s been insufferable since you left.”

“I haven’t even been gone a day, beloved,” Damian glanced out the window. It was odd being here. Nanda Parbat was nothing like the sprawling city of Addis Ababa, but Damian couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it. Perhaps it was because his birth place was not much further away--it was just across the Arabian peninsula, and if Damian really wanted he could hop on another plane and be there in just under five hours. 

He hadn’t been this close to Nanda Parbat in a very long time.

Damian swallowed back something that tasted sour.

“Yeah, well, it probably doesn’t help any that I miss you too,” Jon said. Damian could hear the soft smile in his partner's voice, and he wished very suddenly and sharply that he could see it. 

“How are you holding up?” Jon asked.

Damian stayed silent for a moment, not entirely sure how to answer. He wasn’t even sure if he had an answer.

“We’re...not fighting.” he finally said.

“Well, small mercies, I suppose.” Jon didn’t press further. “Any idea when you’re coming home?” 

Damian opened his mouth both to give an answer and to tease, because he truly had not been gone for that long, but before he could he spotted Bruce and Jason coming into the lobby. Jason still looked angry, and Bruce still looked tired.

“I have to go,” Damian said, then tacked on, “Soon, I hope.”

“Okay,” Jon’s voice dropped to something soft and fond. “Love you, Dami.”

“I love you too, Jon.” Damian did not hang up until Jon did, and he shoved his phone back in his pocket just as Bruce and Jason walked up to him. 

“Is everything alright?” Bruce asked. 

“Everything’s fine.” Damian bit back a more snappish retort. “You said something about breakfast, didn’t you?” 

\--

They had gone to a little restaurant that was tucked away and out of sight and quiet, and as Jason and Bruce ate pastries Damian nursed a cup of coffee, his stomach twisting so tightly that he was afraid that he would throw up whatever he put in it. It felt almost surreal to sit at this little table with Jason and Bruce and eat breakfast and not immediately start yelling at each other. Damian couldn’t remember the last time they actually ate a meal together like a family. 

Damian couldn’t even remember the last time they were all in the same room together.

It was...nice. 

He took a sip of his coffee, swallowing the bitter liquid with a barely concealed grimace. 

“How did you even get here?” Damian finally broke the silence that had settled around them. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, but it wasn’t entirely unbearable either. Just odd.

Jason swallowed the bite that was in his mouth, dragging the back of his hand across his lips to dispel any sticky crumbs. He set the half eaten pastry down on a napkin and clapped his hands together to get rid of the crumbs on his fingers too. “It’s not like it’s that hard to fake Bruce’s signature.” 

Bruce narrowed his eyes and Damian swallowed a laugh. 

“I just booked everything under Bruce’s name and said he was meeting up with me later,” Jason continued. “And it’s not like I was _wrong_.”

And there was the anger creeping back into Jason’s voice. Damian had been waiting for it. 

“Jason--” Bruce started, then closed his mouth, took a deep breath, then opened it again. “Jason, I’m not mad at you.” 

Whatever Damian had been expecting Bruce to say, it hadn’t been that. 

“Yeah? Coulda fooled me.” Jason must not have been expecting it either. His tone got sharp and defensive. He crossed his arms over his chest and hunched his shoulders and scooted his chair back just enough to put some distance between him and Bruce. Scooted it back just enough to give him room to bolt. “What do you call last week, then?” 

“I call it being worried about you,” Bruce scooted his own chair back, cutting off whatever extra room Jason had given himself. “I know this isn’t just about your mom, Jaylad.” 

“How do you know? Maybe this _is_ just about my mom.” Jason snapped it out, then glanced at Damian. “I’m sure Damian gets it.” 

“I don’t, actually.” Damian said. 

Jason only let himself get tripped up by Damian’s answer for just a moment. He blinked in surprise, then shook his head and curled in tighter on himself. His hair had gotten longer since Damian last saw him. It curled around his ears and neck and was hovering right at that length where Jason started to hate it. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Jay--”

“Then we won’t talk about it.” Damian cut Bruce off. Jason was clamming up, and unless they backed off and gave him space he wouldn’t open back up. “We’ll go see your mother instead.” 

\--

The refugee camp was big. 

It was almost too big,

Bruce must have picked up on it as well. He slowed the car down as they drove in, glancing around wearily as people walked past. Eventually they were stopped by a woman. She was wearing a dust stained lab coat and mint colored scrubs. Her hair was a pretty blond color and cut in a sharp bob, and her eyes were the exact same shade of blue as Jason’s. 

Damian could see other similarities--their noses were the same and their jaw line was similar, but it was the eyes that stood out the most. 

Damian was sitting in the backseat with Jason, and he reached out and put a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder as Bruce got out of the car. Damian and Jason stayed inside, but kept the windows rolled down. 

“Can I help you?” the woman asked pleasantly. She tilted her head and gave Bruce a smile. 

“We’re looking for Sheila Haywood.” Bruce responded.

“That would be me.” Sheila stood up a little straighter. “What can I help you boys with?” 

“I’m Bruce Wayne--these are my sons, Damian and Jason Todd.” Bruce kept the introductions quick. It wasn’t hard for Damian to see that his father was just as uneasy as he was. “I’m not sure how to put this gently, but we believe you’re Jason’s mother.” 

Sheila’s eyes flicked to the back seat of the car. Her face went blank. “You must be mistaken, Mr. Wayne.”

Jason tensed. 

“You had a child with Willis Todd, didn’t you?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, but I had a daughter.” Sheila looked back at Bruce. Her eyes were hard now.

“Yeah, that’s, uh--that’s me.” Jason’s voice was so quiet that Damian barely heard it, so he was surprised that Sheila did. 

“Oh,” Sheila’s eyes went wide as she looked back at Jason. Jason himself only looked at her for a moment before looking away again. His hands were shaking. “I take it your father is dead, then.” 

Jason nodded. “He got shot. Died in the hospital.” 

A silence fell between them. 

“Yes, well, these things happen, I suppose.” Sheila cleared her throat. “It was nice to meet you, uh, Jason, but I really must be getting back to work.” 

“Wait--” Damian called out to her, but she was already walking away and Bruce was already going after her. He bit out a few curses and scrambled for the door so he could follow after her and Bruce, but stopped when he heard Jason let out a soft choking sound. Damian turned to look back at him, and while Jason still had his head ducked down Damian could see tears spilling from his eyes and dripping down his nose. 

“Jay--” Damian didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around him and pull him in for a hug. 

“She just--she’s just gonna walk away--?” Jason couldn’t even finish.

He didn’t need to.

“Some mothers do.” Damian mumbled. 

He thought of his own mother, and held Jason a little closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheila Haywood gets no rights in this house
> 
> I don't know why I had such trouble with this chapter, so if anything seems wonky I apologize


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @snap-dragon-pop

It was late, well past the time where it was reasonable to still be awake, but despite the late hour hazy yellow light still streamed in through the windows of the hotel room—a consequence of being in the center of the city. 

Damian was used to city lights. Bludhaven always seemed to shine brighter than Gotham did in that regard. It was never truly dark in Bludhaven, never fully reached the still darkness that came with the night, and Gotham was no better. Damian usually found comfort in that, but even so he crept out of the room and to the hall when he was sure Bruce and Jason were asleep. The light didn’t reach here, and Damian sat on the floor with his knees to his chest, breathing in time with the pressing chill of near total darkness. 

He never found comfort in the darkness, not like his father. 

But there was a familiarity to it, and so Damian sat in the dark like a child--just like he used to do in the sealed rooms of Nanda Parbat--holding himself as the stillness slowed his beating heart and calmed his breathing and took away the nightmares that still played in his head. 

Damian had not been away from Jon in a very long time. 

He had grown used to the weight of a warm body sleeping next to him, and when he woke on a cold floor reaching out to reassure himself that Jon was there, that Damian’s dreams were not reality, he could not help the panic that started to flood his stomach. So he left the comfort of the city lights for the pressure of the dark in a hope that it would push down the panic.

It never did, not really. 

Damian was calling Jon before he even realized. 

“ ‘lo?” Jon’s voice was low and groggy, and he let out a yawn a moment later. 

“I’m sorry—did I wake you?” Damian held the phone close to his cheek. 

“No—“ a lie, but Damian didn’t call it out. “I needed to get up anyway.” 

Damian didn’t say anything for a while. He just listened to Jon breathe, a steady beat in the chilling silence. He missed—rather suddenly—the warmth that always seemed to cling to Jon, and Damian wanted to be back in Bludhaven and in bed, wanted to hear Jon’s heartbeat, wanted to reassure himself with physical touch that Jon was okay. 

But they were an ocean apart.

“We found Jason’s mother.” Damian finally said. 

There was the crackle of movement through the phone, like Jon was shifting the blankets so he could sit up. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”

Damian shook his head before remembering that Jon couldn’t see him. “She didn’t want anything to do with him.”

“Shit—“ Jon bit out the word like he didn’t know how to say it. He sounded much more awake. “Is Jay okay?”

“He’s—“ Damian started, then stopped.

The door to the hotel room was slowly opening, and a moment later Jason slipped out. He was dressed in his black jeans and a gray t-shirt with a beanie pulled down low on his head. Damian would not have even seen him if his eyes hadn’t already adjusted to the darkness. Jason looked around, and he must not have seen Damian sitting behind the door because after a moment of looking around he closed it and hurried down the hall and towards the stairs. 

Damian felt something heavy settle in his stomach.

“I—I’ll call you back, beloved.”

“Is everything okay?” Jon asked.

“Yes, I just--need to talk to Jason.” Damian said.

“Okay—love you, Dami.” Jon hung up with only a slight hesitation, and Damian slipped the phone in his pocket and followed after Jason. 

—

Jason was going back to the refugee camp.

Damian thought for a moment that he should call Bruce, but he dismissed that thought as quickly as it came. Bruce would only take Jason back to the hotel, and Jason would be left bitter and angry and without answers. He was a good kid. He didn’t deserve to hate the world so early in his life. 

So Damian put his phone back in his pocket and let Jason slip into the camp before following after him. 

Jason went right to the head medical tent, hesitating for only a moment before slipping inside. 

Damian hung back. 

He understood the need to know and understand, to ask a mother if they still loved a son. It was not so long ago that Damian was asking the same questions and demanding the same answers, but he never got them. 

Damian blinked, shook his head, then crept closer to the tent. 

The camp was eerily silent at night, making the noise coming from the medical tent seem like shouting. 

“--take the money,” Sheila was speaking, and when Damian peered in she was holding an envelope out to Jason. Her other arm was crossed high over her chest, keeping herself guarded and closed off. “That’s all I can offer you, kid.” 

Jason was looking at the envelope with a blank look. 

“I don’t want your money.” He said quietly. 

“Then what the hell do you want?” Sheila all but shouted it, scowling and throwing the envelope onto a table. It landed with a dull thwap, the noise sounding far too loud for how little it was. She looked almost frightened as she looked at Jason, taking a tiny step back. “I told you--I don’t have time for you, nor do I _want_ you.” 

They stared at each other, the lamplight casting sharp shadows across their faces. Jason hardly looked like himself, and Sheila looked like a pale imitation of the woman Damian met this morning.

“I got what I wanted.” Jason finally said. 

He spun on his heel and walked out. Damian didn’t have enough time to dart back, but it hardly mattered. Jason didn’t seem in the least bit surprised to see him, instead looking up at him with a dull gaze. 

“I looked into her before I came here.” Jason said. His voice was hollow--empty. “She’s embezzling money from the camp. Selling illegal weapons, too.” 

Damian blinked as he processed that information.

“I called the police,” Jason continued. He started walking away, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders. “We should go before they get here.”

Damian stood there for a moment, stunned. 

He shook his head. He needed to go after Jason and process later. He spun on his own heel and took off in a jog to catch up to Jason. The camp was starting to rouse and come to life from Sheila’s earlier yelling, but Damian didn’t pay it any mind. His focus was on Jason, and when he finally caught up to the younger boy he only faltered for a moment before putting his arm around Jason’s shoulders. 

Jason leaned into the touch.

“I thought maybe--” Jason cut himself off and took in a shaky breath. “I thought she might care.” 

“I’m sorry,” Damian said softly. 

In the distance, a siren wailed. 

\--

Bruce was up and waiting for them when they got back.

“Where were you?” He stood from the bed and went to Jason first, taking hold of him in his arms and looking him over for injury. Then he looked at Damian, eyes darting up and down as he looked for any bruises and scuffles on his eldest. “I was worried--”

“Can we go home now?” Jason asked. He didn’t try and squirm out of Bruce’s hold--instead he lifted his hand and clung to Bruce’s shirt like a child. 

And he was, Damian realized with a jolt. 

He was a fifteen year old child, scared and hurt and wanting the comfort of his father. 

Bruce stopped and snapped his mouth shut. He looked back down at Jason, held him a little tighter, then pushed the beanie back so he could press a soft kiss to the top of Jason’s head. “Of course we can, Jaylad.”

Damian felt a gentle stab in his heart. 

A few moments later Bruce had his phone out and was booking tickets for the next flight, and Damian was darting about the hotel room and packing up duffle bags and suitcases. They were out of the room and checked out within a span of fifteen minutes, piling into the rental car to drive to the airport for a flight that was going to leave in the next two hours. 

They were able to board the flight with far too much ease, but Damian didn’t say anything about it. 

He quietly took the window seat and didn’t argue as Jason dropped his head on his shoulder as he drifted off to sleep. He pulled out his phone to shoot Jon a quick text, then took a deep breath and rested his head against the window. 

It was cold and sent a jolt racing down Damian’s spine. 

“Does Talia ever call you?” he asked.

Damian didn’t look at Bruce, but he could feel Bruce looking at him. 

“She...tries to, sometimes. But I don’t answer.” Bruce answered slowly, taking the time to choose his words. “Does she call you?”

“No.” Damian wasn’t surprised that his mother still tried to get in contact with Bruce. What she had felt for Bruce went far beyond what Ra’s had ordered his daughter to feel for the man--it had tipped into an obsession, and Damian had gotten the brunt of it and had spent far too many years trying to untangle all the bullshit Talia dumped onto him.

“Are you...upset by that?” Bruce sounded unsure and awkward about the question, but Damian was too exhausted to get worked up about it. 

“That day I left--she tried to get me to come back to Nanda Parbat.” Damian could hear Bruce’s breath hitch. He hadn’t known about that, but Damian had made it a point for Bruce not to know. “I told her no. Said if she ever came back I would break her neck.” 

Damian glanced at Bruce. 

“Jason will be fine. You just have to give him time.” Damian said. 

He looked back out the window, holding himself still as Jason shifted. Damian didn’t want to wake him.

“I’m glad you stayed, Damian.” Bruce said softly.

Damian didn’t respond, but something warm settled in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim is coming soon, I promise. For now, enjoy a healthy dose of Jason and Bruce actually being a Good Dad


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @snap-dragon-pop

Damian was exhausted and disoriented from the time shift and jet lag and the fact that it was still dark outside even after the fifteen hour flight even though inside the airport was washed in the harsh white of fluorescent lights, so when he got off the plane and saw Jon waiting for him in the terminal he wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t hallucinating. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time.

But then Jon was there in front of him, smiling brightly and warmly and smelling like honey and lavender laundry soap and home, and Damian didn’t care if he _was_ hallucinating because he had missed Jon far more than he had thought and he wanted nothing more than for his partner to just hold him. It was such a childish want, but Damian didn’t try to push it down and away--he wanted to indulge in it like he had back when they were young and stupid and high off of just the touch of holding hands. 

Jon laughed softly as Damian rocked forward into his chest, taking the duffle bag from Damian and throwing it over his shoulder so he could wrap an arm around Damian’s waist and hold him closer. “Tired?”

Damian grunted. 

He was _exhausted_.

Jon hummed and pressed a kiss to Damian’s temple that was just as warm as his hold. Damian leaned into it and almost asked Jon to kiss him again when he pulled away, but then a little black blur went speeding by.

Damian was still coherent enough to be confused by it, so he blinked, and looked back in the direction it had gone. 

That little black blur was Cassandra, dressed in a thick black sweater and jeans, and she was barreling head first right into Jason. Jason himself just barely caught her, dropping his own bag to securely wrap his arms around his sister’s waist. He went stumbling back from the momentum, and after a fierce hug the two started signing at each other in quick and fluid motions. Damian was too far away to make most of it out, but that wasn’t his concern at the moment.

If Cassandra were here, then that meant Alfred wouldn’t be far behind. 

And as if summoned by thoughts alone, Alfred’s pleasant British lilt sounded just over Jon’s shoulder. “It’s been quite awhile, Master Damian.”

Damian tensed, and it was not out of fear so much as it was out of a sudden and overwhelming sense of guilt. 

It had been Bruce Damian had been angry at, not Alfred. And yet Damian shut Alfred out of his life right along with his father for no other reason than that it was the easier option. Keeping in touch with Alfred meant risking contact with Bruce, and Damian had been selfish enough to not consider the consequences of his actions. 

No, he had been _angry_ enough to not fully consider the effect of his actions. 

Just like Jason. 

“Hello, Alfred.” he said quietly. 

It took him a moment to work up the courage to lift his head and look at the old butler, and when he finally didn’t he didn’t know why he had been so afraid to. Alfred was smiling warmly at him without an ounce of anger in his eyes, and when they made eye contact his smile only grew softer. 

“You look well,” he said.

Alfred was in his casual wear, which wasn’t really casual, not to Damian’s standards. Damian’s idea of casual was an old t-shirt and sweatpants, and Alfred’s was a pair of pressed black slacks and a finely knitted wool sweater and his oxfords.

“You too,” Damian said. He bit the inside of his cheek, and then before he could bite down the words rising in his throat he let them out. “I’m--I’m sorry.”

Alfred blinked slowly at him. “I appreciate the apology, but whatever are you sorry for?” 

Jon let Damian go, and then he was standing in front of Alfred and trying not to cry.

Damian was sure a part of his sudden apology was his lack of sleep and proper caffeine. Jon always liked to tease him about how he got more open and affectionate the more tired he was. Damian was sure a part of it was seeing Jason and Sheila and reliving his own past with Talia on the flight home. 

But truly, the crux of it was that Damian had missed Alfred. 

Alfred, who was far too kind and forgiving and had loved Damian unconditionally from the moment Bruce brought him home. 

And Damian had repaid that kindness and love with anger and fighting and shutting it out of his life. 

“I--” 

Damian wasn’t able to get anything out, because at that moment Jason and Cassandra came back over. Cassandra slipped between Damian and Jon. She took hold of Damian’s hand before he could pull it back, peering up at them with wide eyes while Jason continued on to Alfred and immediately started to offer an apology for not telling Alfred when he had gone. 

Jon gave Cassandra a wave. She beamed and squeezed Damian’s hand. 

“My goodness, I have both of you boys apologizing? Whatever is the world coming too?” Alfred gave both of them a good natured smile before shaking his head. “I’m just glad you’re all alright.”

Jason looked back at Damian with wide eyes. 

Damian looked away. 

\--

Bludhaven was eerily quiet tonight.

Flamebird had offered to take Nighwing’s half of the city tonight so he could stay home and catch up on sleep, but Damian had declined the offer. He needed to think and clear his head, and lying in bed with Alfred the Cat acting as his space heater wouldn't help him any. So Damian had suited up, did a few warm up stretches, gave Jon his customary good luck kiss, then took off for patrol.

But with the Danial’s case having been closed only a few days ago, things were slow.

So Nightwing took up residence atop one of Bludhaven’s taller buildings and kept his comm on the police radio frequency in case something went south. 

He was listening to a few officers chatter about where they wanted to stop for coffee when he heard the quiet thud of someone landing next to him. He expected it to be Flamebird, but when he glanced over to see Robin instead he couldn’t quite hold back his surprise.

“What are you doing here?”

“Visiting.” Robin answered. He sat next to Nightwing, his legs dangling off the building. “And before you ask, Batman knows I’m here.”

Nightwing narrowed his eyes, but didn’t comment. 

“I asked about him, ya know,” Robin continued. “B laid into me when we left the airport. Said he didn’t want me leaving like that again ‘cause of what happened to Tim.” 

A heavy bag of stones dropped in Damian’s stomach, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. 

Logically, Damian knew that Jason knew of Tim Drake. _Everyone_ knew of Tim Drake. His death had been on the national news networks for weeks, and anyone who was anyone was laying out speculations and theories on how he died and when he died and who did it. Officially, Tim Drake’s death was an unsolved murder case, and for close to a year the public just couldn’t let it go. His parents certainly hadn’t helped the media circus any--any chance they got they had gone on the news, crying and weeping and asking for any information on their son’s murder and pretending to be the good parents that they weren’t. 

It had been hard to watch and even harder to live with, and before Damian left Gotham he and Bruce agreed to just not talk about it more for Stephanie’s sake than anyone else's. 

“He didn’t tell me anything.” 

Damian snapped back. 

He blinked and shook his head before looking at Robin. “And you think I’m going to?”

“I think you want to,” Robin countered. He looked at Nightwing with a level stare, holding his gaze until Nightwing finally broke it. “It’s why you left, isn’t it? Because Tim died?”

“No. That’s not why I left.” Damian swallowed back something bitter and thick. 

If that had been all it was, then Damian and Bruce could have recovered from it. It wouldn’t have been easy, and they would have still fought and argued and screamed at each other, but they could have recovered. 

“Then why did you leave?” 

“You’re asking some awfully personal questions, Robin.”

But Jason didn’t take it back. He kept looking at Damian, waiting for an answer. 

Damian stared back at him. He knew that he was going to have to tell this story regardless of if he wanted to or not, because Jason’s stubbornness could rival Bruce’s. If Damian didn’t tell him then Jason would go looking for answers himself, and he would either find the wrong ones or, worse, the right ones. 

“Do you remember the Joker?” Damian finally asked. 

Jason had to take a moment to think about it. He would have been only eleven when Joker died, which is just on the edge of too young to remember and too old to forget. “Kind of.”

“He was the one who put Spoiler in a wheelchair.” Damian’s mouth was dry and tasted like charcoal. “When she was Batgirl--he figured out who she was. Showed up at her apartment and shot her and left her there to bleed out. Jon was the one who found her. He took her to the hospital before telling me and Batman.” 

Jon hadn’t been Flamebird then--hadn’t even been Superboy.

And Damian hadn’t been Nightwing, and he certainly hadn’t been Robin. 

They had just been Jon Kent and Damian Wayne, highschool sweethearts applying for colleges and grad school and living in a shithole apartment in Gotham. Jon was supposed to meet up with Stephanie that night to help her study for some exam. But she didn’t show up, so Jon went looking for her. 

Damian and Bruce wouldn’t have even known anything was wrong if Jon hadn’t gone looking for her. 

“Tim was with her that night, but when Jon got there he was gone. Batman and I went looking for him, but--” Damian snapped his mouth shut. 

When Jon called him and told him what happened, Damian hadn’t hesitated in slipping back into his old Robin suit. He and Bruce had looked for Tim for days while Jon stayed with Stephanie as she fought for her life, but they never even got so much as a strand of hair. All they had was a hope and a prayer that the Joker wasn’t nearly as cruel as this. 

It wasn’t until Stephanie woke from her coma, screaming and sobbing, that they finally figured it out and all their prayers shattered. 

Damian took in a deep breath. “Joker had gotten into his head that he need a--a family. A son. So he took Tim and doused him with chemicals--brainwashed him and turned him into a mini version of him.”

Damian remembered when he had kicked in that warehouse door. He remembered how it had snapped off rusted hinges like it was paper, remembered how Tim had been standing there with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a gun in the other, like he was a child sent to greet the houseguests and to show off his new toy. His face had been sloppily painted white and red, his hair hastily died a bright green, his mouth stretched wide as he giggled and shrieked like he had just been told the world's funniest joke. 

He remembered the tears that had been in Tim’s eyes and running down his cheeks and smearing the makeup.

He remembered that Tim had been unable to stop them just like he couldn’t stop laughing. 

Joker had been standing behind Tim, shaking his head and tisking because _oh, look at that, Junior, they didn’t even knock_ and Tim had laughed harder and dropped the flowers and pointed the gun right at Damian’s chest because Joker had told him _show them what we do to rude house guests_.

And Damian thought he was going to die. 

He remembered that Tim dropped the gun instead, laughed harder until he was sobbing. 

Damian remembered the way Joker looked at Tim, the way he sneered at him in disgust. He remembered the way Joker said _I knew I shouldn’t have gotten the damaged goods_ before reaching forward and snapping Tim’s neck. 

Damian remembered that suddenly, Tim was dead. 

“Nightwing?” Robin asked quietly. “Are you--are you okay?” 

Nightwing blinked, and the noise of Bludhaven’s nightlife slowly came back to him. 

“I’m fine.” Nightwing snapped it out, then took in a deep breath and swallowed back the bitter gunk in the back of his throat. “We found Tim, but Joker killed him just as Batman and I got there. Then I killed Joker.” 

It felt odd saying it out loud. 

For the longest time it had been the thing no one talked about, and here Damian was, admitting it like he was telling Jason what he ate for dinner. 

“ _You_ killed Joker?” Robin’s eyes went wide. 

“Yeah. I did. And that’s why I left.” Damian was done talking about it. He sharply stood and started walking towards the other end of the roof, where he had a better chance of getting a more secure hook for his grapple. “You should get home. I’m sure Batman is worried about you.” 

But Nighwing had already swung off.

He stopped and landed on a roof a few buildings over, stumbling as his feet hit solid ground. 

“Are you okay?” 

And then there was Flamebird, placing steady hands on Nightwing’s shoulders and pulling him close to keep him upright. Nightwing closed his eyes and curled his fingers to his palms, trying to not make his shaking hands so obvious. 

“I’m fine.” Nightwing said.

They both knew it was a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alfred is The Best and we all need to appreciate him more


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @snap-dragon-pop

“I hear you’ve been telling stories about me, boy wonder.”

Damian was so absorbed in copying his patient record to the computer—it was for a little tabby cat named Scoodles—that it took him a moment to realize someone was talking to him. It took him a moment longer to actually place the voice, it had been so long since he'd heard it outside of the comm links on his occasional patrol in Gotham. 

“Stephanie?” He looked up from the reception desk, setting down the clipboard as he looked at Stephanie Brown with wide eyes. “How did you get here?”

“I took the bus.” Stephanie said. Then she smiled something soft and familiar, the scar across her lip stretching with the motion, and Damian’s stomach twisted into something almost painful. “Been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Damian did not answer right away. 

Stephanie had cut her hair short. It fell just above her chin in bouncy curls instead of the long sandy waves of her Batgirl days, and Damian did not know why he chose to focus on that. She wore glasses now too, purple horn rimmed ones. They were slightly fogged from the sudden shift from the chill of the Fall Bludhaven air to the warmth of the vet clinic, but it seemed to not bother her. Damian vaguely recalled that the doctor said Stephanie’s vision might be affected due to the spinal cord damage, but he hadn’t stuck around Gotham long enough to find out. 

And of course there was the wheelchair. 

“You got time to talk?” It wasn’t a question so much as it was a demand.

Damian glanced at Jennifer. She was the actual receptionist, and she just offered a shrug and a smile. 

“Go hang out with your girlfriend.” she said happily. “I’ll cover for you.”

Damian narrowed his eyes, but he was too tired to get into it today. 

“Finish this for me, will you?” Damian slid the clipboard over into Jennifer’s space, then stood from the chair and lifted the patch of counter that served as the gate for the reception desk. He stepped out and let it fall a little harder than necessary, then turned to Stephanie. 

“Nice scrubs,” she said, then, “did you and Jon break up?”

“No. We’re engaged, actually.” Damian shoved his hands in his pockets. He was wearing the scrubs Ma made him for Christmas last year. They had little cartoon black cats on them. “Jennifer is just in denial.” 

\--

They went to the Starbucks just across the street, settling into a quiet little corner table at the back of the building. 

For a while, neither of them said anything. 

Damian was halfway through his drink before they spoke.

“Engaged, huh?” Stephanie drug her straw through her half melted frapp, scooping out some of the sludge at the bottom and the whipped cream at the top and popping it all in her mouth. “When did that happen?” 

She bit down on the straw, rolling it between her teeth. 

“A few days ago,” Damian answered. He picked at the cardboard sleeve on the cup, slowly peeling away the top layer. He didn’t look up at Stephanie. “It was the day before Jason went to Ethiopia, actually.” 

Silence again. 

It had been years since Damian had actually stood face to face with Stephanie Brown.

Years that felt like lifetimes. 

“Bruce is still pretty shaken up about it, ya know? He tried to bench Jay, but the kid told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine.” Stephanie spoke quietly. She held the straw between her fingers, tapping it against the table for a moment before setting it down. Damian watched it roll, stopping just before falling off the table. “He’s been doing that a lot--keeping Jay and Cass home and off patrol. He says it's so they can focus on school work, but--” 

Stephanie cut herself off and took in a deep breath,

“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.” she finished. 

And it didn’t, Damian supposed. 

Tim had been fifteen when he died. Jason was fifteen now, and Cassandra was about to be fifteen in a few weeks. Bruce would be on edge, paranoid and looking around every corner in case something went wrong and doing his best to keep both Jason and Cassandra out of danger--he was overcompensating and making up for a death that had been no way his fault. It was what Bruce did. Damian had had fourteen years to adjust to his father’s coping mechanisms, but Jason had not been afforded that luxury. 

So of course Jason was going to act out and lash out. From his perspective it looked like a punishment for something he didn’t do. 

Honestly, after Jason’s little Ethiopia stunt Damian was surprised that Bruce hadn’t wrapped the kid in bubble wrap and locked him in his room. 

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” Damian said. “And Father isn’t telling them anything, is he?”

Stephanie shook her head. Her hair bounced with the movement.

“You know how he is, Dami,” she picked the straw back up, rolling it between her fingers before sticking it back in her mouth. It cracked as she bit down on it. “He doesn’t know how to have a decent conversation if it bit him in the ass.” 

Damian snorted out a laugh.

Stephanie smiled, but it fell just as quickly as it came. “I don’t know what you told Jason, but you’ve sparked his curiosity.”

“I told him how Tim died.” Damian didn’t see any point in beating around the bush. “He asked why I left Gotham, so I told him.”

“You didn’t leave because Tim died, Damian.” Stephanie said softly. 

Damian bit the inside of his cheek. “I told him I killed the Joker.”

“You didn’t leave because of that, either.” four years, and Stephanie was still frighteningly good at reading Damian. “You know that Jason’s been digging into the Joker’s files, don’t you? Bruce just about lost his shit when he caught him.” 

Damian closed his eyes and took in a breath, holding it until it hurt. 

“I’m not his babysitter.” he said.

“No, but you _are_ his brother.” Stephanie reached out across the table, taking Damian’s hands in hers and giving it a squeeze. Her hands were freezing. “He’s gotta hear this from you. Not from Bruce, and not from computer files.” 

Damian didn’t say anything. 

Stephanie was right. She was always right.

Damian hadn't left because of Tim, and he hadn’t left because of what he did to Joker. Bruce was a lot of things, but he wasn’t so caught up in his morals that he couldn’t forgive his children for their mistakes. He could be angry--was still angry--but that didn’t mean he couldn’t forgive.

No, Damian left because Bruce was too forgiving and Damian was too angry to accept that. 

Damian was too full of guilt over Tim to accept that.

“You know, you’re a lot more like Bruce than you think.” Stephanie pulled back, and even though her hands had been cold Damian felt colder. “You both blame yourself for things that are completely out of control.”

“That’s not--I could have _been_ there for him--”

“And then what?” Stephanie cut him off. “Say you had been a better brother. Say that you hadn’t pushed him aside. What would it have done? Joker still would have come that night, and Tim would still be dead, and I would still be in this damn wheelchair.” 

Stephanie took in a shaky breath. “Look, whatever fucked up sense of guilt you feel over what happened that night? It’s not your fault, and I don’t blame you. No one blames you.” 

“What’s your point?” Damian asked. His voice came out shaky, but they both ignored it. 

“My point--” Stephanie said. “--is that you need to let it go and stop being afraid to come home.” She blinked back something wet in her eyes. “I miss him, Dami. I miss him every single day and it still hurts but it’s--what’s done is done. I’m trying to move on, and you need to too.” 

Damian swallowed back something bitter. 

Stephanie was right.

Stephanie was always right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are getting closer to Tim's grand entrance, but until then have some Steph


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr @snap-dragon-pop

Damian came home far too exhausted. 

He dropped his bag by the door, toed off his shoes, then all but fell onto the couch and into Jon’s lap. He didn’t even bother to ask Jon about the box of ornaments in the middle of the floor. 

Alfred the Cat, who had been lying next to Jon’s leg, let out a startled merp as Damian’s movements jostled him and caused him to roll over. The cat stood and stretched, then padded across Jon’s lap and over to Damian and hopped up onto his back. He kneaded his paws and dug his claws into Damian’s scrubs, let out a rumbling purr, then sat right between his shoulder blades.

Damian didn’t bother to try and shrug him off.

“Well, I _was_ gonna ask if you wanted to set up the Christmas tree today, but I’m thinking I need to switch that to taking a shower instead.” Jon smiled and ducked down to press a kiss to the top of Damian’s head. 

“It’s not even December.” Damian mumbled, knowing full well that it didn’t matter. It was almost Thanksgiving, which meant it was Christmas to Jon. 

“Rough day?” Jon asked, completely ignoring Damian’s comment. He switched his kindle to his other hand so he could dig his fingers in Damian’s hair and gently massage his scalp. “Jennifer being Jennifer again?”

“It’s always Jennifer, Jon.” Damian sighed, then shuffled around until he was lying on his side. Jon adjusted accordingly, and Alfred the Cat shrieked at the movement before draping himself over Damian’s side. He immediately started purring again and dug his back paws into Damian’s ribs. “No, it's—Stephanie visited today.” 

Jon’s movements stilled for just a moment. It was so quick that Damian almost didn’t notice it. “At the clinic?”

Damian hummed.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve seen her,” Jon said it slowly, picking and choosing his words carefully. “How is she?” 

Damian wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. He stayed silent for a while, staring at the box of ornaments. Jon had labeled the box with his loopy cursive. The ink was starting to fade already, turning to a dull gray. They would have to go over it again, relabel it when they moved again. 

“As well as she can be.” Damian finally answered. Then he swallowed. “She came to talk about Jason.”

Jon stilled again. “Is he alright?” 

“He’s fine, beloved,” Damian shifted again so he could look up at Jon. Alfred the Cat screamed some more and hopped down from the couch, flicking his tail as he padded off into the kitchen. “Stephanie wants me to talk to him--he’s been looking at the Joker’s files and she’s worried he’s going to find something he shouldn’t see.” 

Jon didn’t say anything for a few moments. Instead he gently ran his fingers through Damian’s hair again, working out the tangles and knots. 

“She’s probably right,” Jon mumbled. “You know how curious Jason is--he’s gonna stumble upon something and make conclusions.”

Damian hummed. 

Jon knew that Damian told Jason about what happened that night, and he also knew that Damian left a lot out. Jon had never said anything, but Damian didn’t have to look too hard to know that Jon wasn’t entirely happy with how Damian handled the situation. 

Damian wasn’t happy with how he handled it either.

Jason deserved to know the truth. All of it. 

“I know,” Damian said quietly. “I’m going to tell him.”

“Tell me what?” 

Jon jumped and Damian shot up. 

Robin was sitting in the window, still holding it open. He glanced between the two of them, then gave them a sheepish smile as Damian narrowed his eyes. 

“What are you doing here, Jason?” Damian asked.

“ _How_ did you get here?” Jon asked.

“B needs your help with something but he’s being stubborn and not calling you.” Jason climbed fully through the window, closing it gently behind him. He knelt to pet Alfred the Cat as he came running over to say hello, gushing at him in baby talk before the cat wandered off again. “And I took the batmobile.” 

Damian stared at Jason as he let that sink in. 

“You took the _batmobile?_ ”

Jason stood, patting down his cape to rid it of cat hair. It was a futile effort. “It was the quickest way here.”

“Jason, you’re fifteen!” Jon stood from the couch, jostling Damian as he did so. He hurried over to Jason and glanced him over for any obvious bruises like a worried hen. “You don’t even have your permit--”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive.” Jason huffed and sidestepped Jon. Jon let him, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as Jason walked over to Damian with a worried eye. “Can you just come back to Gotham with me? There’s a guy with a red helmet running around and Bruce isn’t letting any of us help him with it--”

“A red helmet?” Damian cut Jason off as his heart dropped down to his stomach. 

“Yeah?” Now Jason was crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing underneath the domino. “Does that mean something to you?” 

“Has he told Stephanie?” Damian asked, already knowing the answer.

Jason frowned. “No. And he told me and Cass to not tell her either.” 

Damian bit the inside of his cheek, but he couldn’t quite bite back the string of curses that spilled from his mouth. Jon hurried over to him, taking Damian’s hands in his own and giving them a soft squeeze. They were warm, grounding, and Damian held on just as tightly as Jon was holding onto him. 

“It’s not him, Dami,” Jon said softly. He pressed his forehead against Damian’s, dropping one of his hands to cup the back of Damian’s neck. “It’s not him.”

Damian had never met the original Red Hood--he hadn’t even been in Gotham when he was active. But Damian had heard the stories and read the files often enough to learn to fear the history as well as the present. 

“Not who?” Jason butted in.

Damian closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “When you were looking at the Joker’s file--did you read about someone called the Red Hood?” 

When Damian opened his eyes again and looked at Jason, the younger boy had his eyes locked on the floor. He had hunched in on himself, trying to hide in cape. “I--yeah, but Bruce stopped me before I could read past the name.” 

Damian bit the inside of his cheek again and hoped to god that he was jumping to conclusions. 

“Red Hood was the Joker before he was Joker.” Damian answers. “That’s why Father isn’t letting any of you help.” 

Jason stared at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. 

“I’ll go suit up--you stay here,” Damian started towards the bedroom, then paused and backtracked towards Jason. “Give me the keys. You’re not driving back.”

Jason frowned, but handed them over. 

\--

“I’m pretty sure I’m better at driving this thing than you are.” Robin said it as the batmobile jerked forward again. 

Nightwing frowned and pressed the gas pedal to the floor as he merged onto the highway, then let off as soon as he fully merged. The purr of the engine was as familiar and comforting as the city lights twinkling around them. “I haven’t driven stick in a while.” 

Robin stared at him. “I don’t think you’ve _ever_ driven stick shift.”

Nightwing rolled his eyes. A car honked and sped past them. “I drove the batmobile all the time--I used to take Jon on joyrides.” 

The car jerked again as Nightwing shifted gears to switch lanes and pass the car that just passed them. 

“Shit--seriously?” Jason’s eyes went wide. “How did you get away with that?”

“I didn’t.” Damian answered. 

Then he floored it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, it's a right of passage as a Robin to take the batmobile on a joyride at least once

**Author's Note:**

> Alfred the Cat is a very important character okay
> 
> (the chapter length will probably get longer once we get going with plot and angst, but for now I'll keep 'em relatively short)
> 
> (and also for age reference Jon and Damian are around 24, Tim is 19, and Jason is 14-15. Bruce is like, mid 40's)


End file.
